


No Control Of What You Let Go

by dollarformyname



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Bodyswap, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollarformyname/pseuds/dollarformyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing Logan's learned about X5s, it's that few of them can resist the shiny lure of buttons. Maybe it's the cat in them, and maybe some got more of that DNA than others because Alec, especially, seems to believe wholeheartedly that buttons can't reach their full potential if no one pushes them. Logan only wishes explosions were the worst that could happen in an age infected with mad scientists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Control Of What You Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://jam-pony-fic.livejournal.com/275104.html?thread=416160#t416160) @ jam_pony_fic's last [comment-fic meme.](http://jam-pony-fic.livejournal.com/275104.html) Bah! I fail so hard at comment-fic; brevity is not my strong suit. Neither is taking less than forever, apparently. XD Unbetaed. 
> 
> Takes place about a year after _Freak Nation_

The storm blows in like some misinformed harbinger of an apocalypse: hard and fast and unwavering in its intensity when it turns out the apocalypse is a no-show, like it can howl and thrash around forever if that's how long it takes for the world to decide it's ready to end. Every surface is glassy and shining under a haze of city light, rain like silver bullets being hurled down out of the sky. The covered walkway of the ratty motel offers little protection, what with the wind blowing water up and down and sideways. Logan is soaked through and freezing, but he doesn't budge. 

“Hey, baby,” one of the working girls says, sidling up next to him. Her eyes are stained black with mascara and her hair's plastered tight to her head, but she doesn't seem to care much about the weather ruining her presentation. “You waiting for someone special, or just any special?”

“Someone,” Logan decides, not really in the mood to explain himself anymore. She's not the first to proposition him and she probably won't be the last. 

She narrows her eyes at the rejection but recovers quickly. Gives him a pretty little pout. “Well, you let me know if you get tired of waitin' around, sweetie.”

Logan offers a perfunctory smile and barely pays attention to the hip-swinging show she puts on as she walks away, already refocused on the warehouse across the street like he can see through the walls if he squints hard enough. 

It's an ugly, hulking thing in a line of squat, uglier siblings, the streetlights around it conveniently dark and all its windows blacked out. All the activity's been relocated to the interior since the rain started, because even criminals are smart enough to not stand in the middle of a flood wearing an expensive overcoat and slacks that don't do much to help a guy blend in the one of the shadiest parts of town, but it wasn't like Logan knew he was going to end up here when he got dressed this morning. Meetings with informants lead to places Logan stopped trying to predict a while ago. 

He glances at his watch and feels that restless frustration twist tighter in his chest. Seems like he's been waiting forty days and forty nights already, but he reminds himself to be grateful that the transgenics are willing to help him out with his own investigations on occasion, even when it's not related to Manticore or the struggle for transgenic rights. They're not as selfish as all that, but quite a few of them don't trust or like him very much, and it's not that he blames them. He's a hundred percent human, different from them, he can't fully understand and he's never really going to, so he knows enough to appreciate it when they make an effort. 

He just wishes they'd make a _more punctual_ effort. 

Logan huffs and shivers, back knotted with the sharp pain of abused muscles working overtime to compensate for those that can't do anything at all. The bad guys probably aren't going anywhere for a while, but he stays planted right where he is, anyway, suffers another hour or so of rain, rain, two more propositions and more rain, before the backup he called for finally deigns to show. 

It's not the relief he was allowing a tiny part of himself to hope for. It's Alec. Of course it's Alec. Max has been more and more distant lately and it's like she throws Alec at him every chance she gets as some sort of twisted punishment for being fatally allergic to her. Logan should be used to it by now but somehow he can never quite stomp down the shudder of... _something_ , whenever he sees that stupidly smug face coming to back him up. 

“Hey,” Alec says, a rain-blurred shape suddenly made crystal clear in his extreme closeness. His clothes cling to every last contour and his lips and skin are glistening wetly, eyelashes ridiculously darker and fuller when they're beaded with rain, and the men and women working the area don't bother to pretend they're not ogling, like they understand and very much approve of Logan's reasons for holding out. 

Logan frowns and makes a point of putting some space between them. 

Alec smirks that infuriating smirk of his—maybe because of Logan's reaction, or maybe at Logan's drowned rat chic in general. He's just as soaked as everyone else but distinctly less bothered by it; doesn't even have the decency to shiver like a normal person. 

It's gonna be one of _those_ nights, then, Logan decides, resigned, but he doesn't dwell. He's remembering to be grateful. 

“There a reason you're out here fighting the current and not inside where it's dry?” Alec asks, nodding his head at the perfectly good shelter of the motel rooms behind them.

Logan frowns harder. “They rent by the hour.”

“So?”

“ _So_. I didn't know how long I was gonna be waiting and one of these people might need the room.” 

Alec looks around at the prostitutes scattered along the street, some making minimal effort to look like they're not loitering in front of businesses, others hanging back in the dark mouths of alleyways, and most of them steering well clear of the warehouses. He notices Alec notice this, and then Alec cocks a brow and gives him this look, like he's got x-ray vision and something about Logan's insides is so very entertaining right now (Logan wouldn't put it past any transgenic to keep something like that a secret, Max included). 

“What?”

Alec smirks again. No, he leers. Logan doesn't understand why he's leering. “Nothing. I'm sure these fine people appreciate your concern for their _needs_.”

“They aren't hanging around in the rain because it's fun,” Logan says, scowling, and Alec goes right on leering, eyes dancing with some private joke Logan has no hope of ever understanding. He stiffens as Alec invades his personal space again, takes another step back and keeps a restraining hand on Alec's chest. Now that he's looking, the guy seems kind of... twitchy. There's an oddly serene glaze to his eyes. “What's wrong with you? Did someone give you catnip?”

“Nothing's wrong with me.” Alec looks him up and down, so casual that Logan actually reconsiders that maybe he's the one being weird. “You're a hot, way too well-dressed commodity. Just trying to keep some of the heat off you.”

“What heat?” Logan looks around again. The prostitutes _have_ been watching him kind of hungrily, he supposes. He just chalked that up to actual hunger, though, because if they were well-fed and sheltered, most of them wouldn't be out here. 

“Surprised no one's tried to mug you yet.”

“I'm not an idiot,” Logan huffs. “I brought protection.”

Alec grins, and Logan rolls his eyes.

“Great. Fine. I'm glad you're amused. You think we could get down to business here? 'Cause unlike some people I'm not immune to pneumonia.”

Alec shrugs like it doesn't make any difference to him what Logan wants to do with his time. “Gimme the rundown, then.”

Logan does, pointing across the street, and Alec transitions so smoothly from playful pest to intent super-soldier, it's a little breathtaking. Logan doesn't dwell on that, either. 

“Rumor has it there's this new group causing all kinds of upheaval. Or, at least, their most recent project is. I don't know much about them yet, still tracking it all down. They've had a few sketchy contracts with the U.S. government, though, and no one's bothering to look too long or hard at pesky details like dumping toxic waste into reservoirs, or using humans as guinea pigs,” Logan says, doing his best not to let the fact that Alec is, once again, way too close and smelling not entirely unpleasant while radiating more heat than the sun, get to him. He's just cold, is all. 

“I, um.” Logan licks his lips and takes a breath. “They seem to be especially sought out by people looking to get around extreme security measures—stuff like infiltrating the CIA, so it's probably safe to say they're not a hundred percent loyal to Uncle Sam. They've got a lot of hands in a lot of jars, and this just happens to be one jar we can take a peek at.” He gestures at a line of vans crammed along one side of the warehouse. “As far as I've been able to tell they're not doing any dissections in there, just building something. I saw them carrying a bunch of equipment inside earlier, but they haven't come out again since the weather went insane.”

Alec nods, eyes sharp as he scans the line of warehouses and its adjacent alleyways. “Think there might still be a few things in those vans worth seeing?” he suggests, and doesn't wait for Logan to agree or disagree before he's halfway across the street-turned-riverbed, all easy and careless like he's got every right to be going this way.

Logan blinks, always ten seconds and twenty steps behind when Alec gets involved. He sighs— _grateful;_ he's being grateful—and tries not to drown as he makes his way to where Alec's skulking around, exoskeleton whining and jerky as a rusted tinman. Though the city's penchant for gloomy skies forced Logan to waterproof it long ago, it still acts up when he's practically swimming underwater like this. He really hopes it doesn't repay the poor treatment with a little electrocution. 

“Stay put and keep an eye out,” Alec tells him when he catches up, then disappears to presumably search the vans.

Logan grits his teeth; doesn't have much choice but to do as he's told. The vans are parked close together in a neat line, barely enough space between them and the walls on either side for a grown man to fit through, though Logan noticed earlier there was more room to maneuver with the warehouse's loading doors wide open. He doesn't want the doors to be open right now, of course—giving the criminals an unobstructed view of their snooping would obviously be bad—but he can't fit back there and he can't do those fancy transgenic gymnastics with his exoskeleton on the fritz, so he's stuck out front, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Anything?” he asks, when Alec's misty silhouette jumps from the back of the second van and onto the roof of the third. 

“Nuts and bolts,” Alec calls back, and disappears again. 

Logan pokes his head out of the alley to see that no one's paying them any outright attention, then ducks back into the shadows to keep an eye on the doors. He's tired and cold and sore all the way down to his bones, and his back is not getting any better the longer he stands out here. He leans against the van's back doors to relieve some of the pressure and—

“Shit!”

—suddenly finds himself mid-air, limbs flapping around in panic.

Alec hauls him up by his collar like it's nothing, and it's really, really unfair that he makes absolutely zero noise in the process, while Logan's thudding and rolling on the roof of the van makes a hell of a racket. 

“Shit,” he hisses again, out of breath and trying to cover the white-hot jolt of pain that landing gave him. “Are you people allergic to fair warning?”

Lightning strikes a glaring line across Alec's all-too-gleeful face. “Not allergic. 'S just funny.”

It's not that Logan dislikes Alec, exactly. It's just that there are far too many moments like this one, in which Alec goes out of his way to be irritating. Logan's sure they'd get along fine if Alec were less inclined toward childish pranks when they're supposed to be working. 

“That's hilarious,” Logan says dryly, not letting on that his waterlogged coat weighs a million pounds and his back is sorely, sorely unhappy with him, as he stands. He wonders if he pulled something crucial. “Hilarity confirmed, can we move on now? Or do you have a whoopee cushion you wanna throw me on top of first?”

Alec grins, bright and quick as a camera flash. It doesn't escape Logan's notice that he doesn't answer before grabbing Logan by the arm and leading him to the front of the van. He's obviously found something, if his eagerness is anything to go by. 

At the edge, Logan eyes the rickety board Alec set up to lead from one roof to the next, dubious. 

“Over the river you go, princess.” Alec gives him a rough nudge, his forethought annoying Logan for no specific reason, as does the hand on his waist, steadying him against gale-force winds while Alec follows him across. 

They repeat the process over the next gap, and then Alec lowers him to the ground the same way he pulled him up, still with no warning. Logan doesn't give him the satisfaction of protesting this time, just grinds his teeth and waits for his feet to touch down so he can evaluate what's left of his dignity. If he leans a little too heavily against the wall while Alec demonstrates his amazing (and completely unnecessary) ability to backflip off a van and land soundlessly on his feet, there's no need to call attention to it. 

“Check it out.” Alec yanks the back doors open, perfectly timed with another crack of thunder to cover the creak of the hinges, and smiles wide. 

Logan moves closer, careful and trying not to be too obvious about that fact, but Alec couldn't care less, already inside and pulling a tarp back to reveal some kind of machine underneath. As soon as he catches a glimpse of it, Logan immediately feels uneasy. 

“Alec,” he warns, because Alec is way too fascinated by the thing, crouching right up close and liable to bump something deadly any second now. “No touching.”

“I wasn't touching.” Alec frowns and backs off a little. His eyes are all alight, though, and that's no good. No good at all. 

It looks like a background prop out of some sci-fi movie, the purpose of which is never explained because it's only there to be pretty and mysterious—a crazy cube of gleaming metal, lights, and entirely too many buttons. If there's one thing Logan's learned about X5's, it's that few of them can resist the shiny lure of buttons. Maybe it's the cat in them, and maybe some got more of that DNA than others because Alec, especially, seems to believe wholeheartedly that buttons can't reach their full potential if no one pushes them. Logan only wishes explosions were the worst that could happen in an age infected with mad scientists. 

“No _touching_ ,” Logan says again, and Alec snatches his wandering hand back guiltily, licking his lips.

“What d'you think it is?”

“I don't even know where to begin guessing,” Logan admits, not quite as fascinated but still plenty intrigued. For the benefit of caution, he hedges, “Could be a bomb,” and is satisfied when Alec backs up that much more. 

It doesn't last long, though. Alec scoots forward again not five seconds later, and if Logan didn't know better he'd say he was hypnotized. 

He distracts Alec with the promise of scheming and thievery. “Think we can get it out of here? I might know a few people who can make sense of it.”

“Maybe,” says Alec, thinking. “If we can move it to the van up front, we could just hotwire that.”

Logan considers it. There aren't a heck of a lot of options that don't require Alec putting his hands on it, and that seems the simplest. “Yeah, okay. Just. Put the tarp back so you don't electrocute yourself. And be careful.”

“Always.” Alec flashes his cockiest grin. 

Logan is unconvinced. “Don't flip any switches.”

“Wasn't gonna.”

“Don't slip and 'accidentally' push any buttons.”

“You're really kind of a buzzkill, anyone ever told you that?”

“All the time,” Logan says, unperturbed. “Let's just get this over with.”

They get it over with, and it all goes surprisingly smoothly. 

Maybe too smoothly.

For a well-funded project chalked full of corrupt business practices, the bad guys have abysmally low security standards. No one comes running out at exactly the wrong moment to threaten their kneecaps, the storm continues to cover any alarming noises they might make, Alec doesn't falter or drop the machine as he fashions together a pulley system out of conveniently appropriate garbage to get it over the vans, and no one on the street seems to be willing to acknowledge they exist, like their adjacency to the warehouse renders them invisible. It takes Alec bare seconds to hotwire the getaway vehicle once the cargo's squared away—it didn't even get wet, not a drop of rain on it anywhere that Logan can see—and Logan can't help that the complete absence of a disaster kicks his paranoia into high gear. 

Something is bound to go wrong. It has to, especially when it's Alec and Logan. _Together._ They're like matches and gunpowder, only more volatile in that their proximity to one another creates the kind of luck that can inadvertently start riots. Well, okay, there was only that one time, kind of an impossible clashing of crazy circumstances that aren't likely to repeat themselves, and it was well over six months ago. Still. 

“Dude, relax,” Alec says, quick and sure as he drives through the deluge without running over a single pedestrian. “You're practically vibrating over there. What's got you so worked up?”

“Nothing. It's fine.” Logan's not going to jinx them by saying it out loud. Bad enough he's thinking it. “I'm fine. We're all fine.”

“Okay,” Alec drawls. “Didn't take you for the type to get twitchy. Not like you're new to this.” 

“Said I was fine,” Logan mutters, turning awkwardly to check the back windows, in case the sideview mirror is lying to him about their lack of hot pursuit. 

The movement aggravates his back again, something popping out of place, and he can't stop the pained rush of breath that pushes out. He can hardly twist himself back into the right position without tears springing to his eyes, it hurts so bad. Jesus, he really fucked it up tonight. 

Alec catches on instantly, and Logan hates him a little bit for choosing this moment to notice. “What's wrong?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Logan grates, teeth clenched against the spiking waves of pain, one after another after another. It's not letting up. He can feel the blood draining out of his face. 

“Nothing, my ass.” Alec pulls over, jerky and careless, and Logan doesn't even want to look and find out where he parked them. He's too busy trying to breathe through it to spare any more energy for paranoia. “What's wrong with you? Did you get shot? I didn't see any guns. I didn't hear any gunfire.” Alec crawls across the seat to practically sit in Logan's lap when he gets no response, his hands everywhere and scorching on Logan's clammy skin. “Hey, c'mon. _Logan._ ”

“Back,” Logan manages, and Alec doesn't hesitate to yank his coat and shirt up and grope around some more. 

“There's no blood. What's wrong with you?” he demands again, because Alec doesn't deal well with mysterious afflictions. Logan is fairly certain that the times Alec's suffered anything he didn't immediately know the cause of, or couldn't figure out pretty quickly from past experience, have been few and far between. 

“Think I—ow, fuck. Stop touching me.” Alec pulls his hands back like they just caught fire, but he doesn't surrender any of Logan's personal space. “Think I pulled something.”

Alec frowns. “Pulled something? How the hell'd you pull something? I did all the lifting, and it's not like you're old and senile yet.”

“Doesn't matter. Let's just get out of here, okay?”

“No, we're not getting out of here. We're good here until you tell me how to fix it.”

And Logan can admit to being a little surprised by the vehemence behind that statement. He manages an awkward smirk. “Didn't know you cared.”

“Bite me, rollerboy. Max'll kill me if I let you get broken. Do you need ice? I can get some ice. Stay put, I'll be right back.”

Alec's already crawled over his lap and halfway out the door before Logan gathers enough sense to grab his arm. “Call me crazy, but I'm not thrilled with the idea of you knocking over a convenient store just to raid the ice machine.”

“I wasn't gonna knock anything over. More like shoplift.”

“How is that better?”

“Less conspicuous?” Alec tries. He gets back in and shuts the door at Logan's unimpressed look. “Fine. What, then?”

“I told you. Let's just get—“

“Maybe you should lay down,” Alec decides, plowing right over Logan's protests as he scrambles through the space between the seats that leads into the back. Leave it Alec to find brand new ways to be annoying; the guy is a spastic force to be reckoned with when things get all complicated and alien on him. 

“ _Alec._ ”

“I'll drive as soon as you shut up and lay down,” he calls, rustling around and doing Logan-doesn't-even-want-to-know-what back there. 

Logan relents, because Alec's got that tone: the one that says he's not budging no matter how insane everyone thinks he's being, and he'll probably knock Logan out just to get him back to normal, all fixed and better and not suffering some unreasonable injury that didn't even have the decency to come with a warning label, because that's just the kind of logic Alec deals in. 

“Don't touch the machine.”

“Stop bossing me around, I'm not fucking five.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Logan mutters, and Alec hears it, of course he does, scowling as he reappears up front—sans his jacket and shirt—to figure out how to get Logan through the narrow space without injuring him further. 

Logan doesn't let his gaze linger on the display of slick skin and lean muscle. He's a healthy, red-blooded male, sure, and maybe a little hard-up lately, but there's no good reason for any of this nonsense. 

“Okay,” Alec says, letting out a breath. “Okay, just go with me on this. Gonna have to suck it up for a second.”

Logan doesn't get a chance to argue. He's hauled out of his seat and grabbing onto Alec's shoulders for dear life before he can draw breath to say _ow, ow, oh god, fucking ow._ Alec manages to strip his overcoat off while simultaneously guiding him carefully but oh-so-painfully into the back and to one side of the machine, the small gap on the floor there padded with Alec's missing clothes. They're still wet, but Logan's not going to be picky. He just wants to fall down and stop moving and maybe die.

“I hate you,” Logan pants once he's horizontal and mostly got his breath back, his own soaked coat draped over him like a blanket, for all the good it does. 

The floor isn't doing a hell of a lot to improve his situation, either, but he's not going to tell Alec that and make that stricken look of his worse, even if he deserves it. Besides, he might get it in his head to try moving him again, and then Logan might actually have to cry. The memory is a tricky thing, but Logan is pretty sure the gunshot that handicapped him in the first place was a walk in the park compared to this. 

“Is it better?” Alec asks, still hovering and distressingly under-dressed for such an occasion. 

“Oh, it's great,” Logan gets out. “How could all this manhandling you're so fond of possibly _not_ help?”

It's the pain, and the drugging heat of Alec's proximity getting to him, is what it is. He shouldn't have said that, because then Alec stops fussing long enough to start thinking. He thinks too long and too hard, and Logan sees the second it hits him, eyes going flat and hostile.

“I hurt you,” Alec says slowly, like those words in that particular order don't fit right in his mouth, and he can't for the life of him figure out how they got in there. “I—“ He bites his lip. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Logan insists. 

“You're a bad liar.” Alec shakes his head. “You asshole, you should've said something!”

“Alec—“

“No. Shut up. It's too late for that now.” Alec's breathing hard, flushed and the uncomfortably manic look in his eye getting brighter and scarier as he pats Logan down some more. Rain beats at the roof, so loud in the company of Alec's searching glare that it's everything, maddening little echoes driving themselves through Logan's brain the longer it goes on. 

“Why are you freaking out about this?” Logan wants to know, because he doesn't understand the ferocity behind it. Max's wrath can be scary, sure, but it's hardly ever fatal to one of her own. Besides, Alec's done a lot worse to the people he lives with and actually cares about, and he doesn't usually turn into a crazy person once he figures out his decisions might not have been the best. Mostly. “Stop being weird.”

“I'm not being—“ Alec pulls in a breath, and thumps Logan's leg. “Do you need this?”

“What?”

“This.” Alec gives the exoskeleton another light thump, something like a challenge in his expression. “I know you've been wearing it for some extra kick, but you haven't actually _needed_ it for a while now. Right?”

Logan presses his lips together and smacks Alec's hand away, which is answer enough, but the last person he wants to have this conversation with is a nigh-indestructible, ridiculously agile super-person who pokes fun at Logan's shortcomings every chance he gets. 

Alec sets his jaw and stomps back up front. 

The van jerks forward, tires squealing and sliding around with the temporary loss of traction. Logan braces himself as best he can, trying not to jostle the machine in any way as Alec indulges in a little road rage. He doesn't say anything else to Logan, but Logan hears him talking to someone at some point, voice clipped and accusing. Probably on his phone, and god only knows who he could be calling right now. 

If Logan wasn't busy feeling like a terribly abused senior citizen, he might make a better effort to calm Alec down. As it is, he's hurting and confused and both these things annoy him, and so when the machine skids into the back doors with an alarming thud, all he can muster is some unhelpful petulance: “Alec, so help me, if that things falls on my head and turns me into some kind of zombie, you'll be my first chew toy.”

Alec doesn't respond, so Logan focuses on breathing and staying as still as possible while Alec plows through the streets like a maniac. His spine feels like it's caught in a tangle of barbed wire and if he dares try to straighten from his uncomfortable sideways curl, all those muscles will come tearing right out of him. 

Alec drives forever. 

“Finally,” Logan breathes when the van lurches to a stop. Alec's going to have to move him again and it's going to suck even more than before, but being bounced around on a hard metal floor has given him a whole new perspective on pain. He's really hoping there are some painkillers in his immediate future. 

The driver's side door slams, and then it's just Logan and the percussion of rain again. He waits a minute. 

Two. 

Alec doesn't come around to get him out. 

Five.

Wind howls around outside and rocks the van back and forth. 

Ten. 

Logically, Logan knows Alec probably didn't just up and leave him here to rot. He probably went to get someone to help, but logic apparently has a difficult time penetrating this kind of pain. He really wants to be out of here, but he can't get up. He starts breathing hard, too hard, too fast.

Twenty.

He shakes and it makes everything hurt worse and he can't fucking get up but fuck that and fuck Alec, anyway, Logan is going to get up if it's the last thing he does. Maybe he can't do cartwheels or scale ten-storey buildings with a running leap, but he's not helpless and he's not some worthless luggage you can leave sitting outside until you feel like getting around to it. He doesn't have to put up with this. 

The back doors fly open before Logan can do anything too reckless, and he'll never admit to the swell of relief he feels at seeing Alec there, scowling and absolutely drenched (and still shirtless because he's apparently decided to torment Logan in all possible ways), one hand on Logan's wheelchair to keep it from taking off to Oz.

Logan determines they're at the house he took over after Joshua left it, and that's good. He'd prefer an E.R., but he can see how Alec might not be keen on visiting that place anytime ever and he has his prescriptions inside, so this is fine. Definitely a step up from being left to wail out his agony on the floor of some criminal's stolen van.

The trip to his bedroom is another long blur of agony that he kind of blacks out a little bit. Left to his own devices on the bed while Alec slams around without bothering with the lights—tearing through every last room and cabinet in the house, from the sounds of it—Logan blinks up at the shadowed ceiling, sweating and panting.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shaky, and randomly wonders at how much more he curses when Alec is around, even in his own head. He's usually more eloquent than this.

Alec stomps back in, still with that mutinous look on his face, and slams a handful of prescription bottles and a glass of water onto the nightstand, one by one, like the repeated strike of a gavel. Maybe he'll manage to be more upset about it in the morning, but for now, Logan is long past caring that his secret's out, can barely manage the proper mortification at having been reduced to this whimpering mess in the face of a man who can take a bullet to the shoulder and pay it about as much mind as a mosquito bite. He doesn't bother engaging in the stare-off Alec seems intent on having. 

Alec huffs, and tips a few pills out into his hand. 

“Three,” Logan says, when Alec tries to get away with only giving him one of the Vicodin. He knows what the label says but the label knows nothing.

“One,” Alec grates, stuffs the medicine into Logan's mouth and ends up spilling half the water all over Logan's face and chest in his ire. 

Logan bites his tongue and doesn't argue. He's perfectly capable of taking more pills once Alec leaves him alone, which will happen a lot faster if Logan pretends to cooperate. 

Except Alec doesn't leave. 

It's a tad worrying actually, the way he just stands there, head cocked and the glint of a scheme unfurling right there in his eyes so clearly, even in the dark. Logan doesn't know quite what to make of it, just that it makes him feel like something small and helpless caught in a trap and he's a little afraid to move, like if he stays perfectly still he won't be seen for the easy meal he is. 

Then, abruptly, Alec's moving.

“Don't bitch,” is all the warning he gives before he bends down and starts unbuttoning Logan's shirt. 

Startled, Logan splutters and flails around a little, except that hurts, so he stops and then he remembers that this is terrifying, and he starts again. When his struggles are only greeted with stony silence and more determined stripping, he feels he has the right to be alarmed. Alec's gone even crazier than he feared; he's absolutely out of his damn mind and Logan can't do much more than go all stupid and breathless. “What are— What?”

Alec ignores him and, once his limbs are free and clear, pulls Logan's shirt out from under him like one of those magic tricks. 

“Alec! If you don't stop, I'll...” he falters, thinks frantically and tries, “I'll tell Max,” and for a second it seems like it might have worked. 

Alec pauses long enough to shoot him a glare, wholly unimpressed, then takes away Logan's pants and his exoskeleton, but at least he leaves his underwear. “Roll over.”

“ _What?_ No.” Logan throws his hands out and grips the sides of his mattress as hard as he can. “Absolutely not. What are you even _doing?_ ” he gets out, and then he has to bite down hard on his lip to keep from letting out a cry of pain when Alec shoves him over onto his stomach as easily as if he were a feather. 

“Fixing it,” Alec drawls, clearly impatient with Logan's learning curve as he drops hot, strong hands onto the bare skin of Logan's back and starts rubbing, and oh, that feels...

God, _yeah_ , that feels amazing. 

“No,” Logan mutters at his own, traitorous thoughts, heart kicking at the walls of his chest harder than a spooked bull in a pen, even as his muscles are turning to soup. The conflicting signals are all very confusing. “No. Stop.”

Alec's attentions don't come close to touching the source of Logan's pain, but it turns out Logan seriously underestimated just how hard-up he's been. All it takes is a few more seconds of the shivery-rough friction and surety of Alec's hands creating a delicious clash of sensation, and he's putty. The whole thing is awful. Bad. Bad and awful and oh, wow, _so good._

“Hands off,” Logan tries again, but it doesn't come out stern so much as whimpering. Then, to make matters worse, Alec's exploratory, kneading fingers find the muscle that feels all twisted out of shape, and Logan lets out a long, relieved groan that he'll deny to his dying day. 

“Yeah. Right there,” Alec says, victorious. He throws a leg over Logan to straddle his ass, and starts massaging in earnest.

Logan stands no chance at all against that kind of assault. His body goes right on betraying him, all loose and pliant and surrendering to the enemy. It hurts for a while, but it's a pleasant, necessary ache that eventually fades out and leaves nothing but wondrous, magical feelings behind. Logan's cock seems to agree, stirring to life and wanting things it has no right to want, Alec's weight grinding into him as he works him looser and looser. It takes all of his willpower not to thrust against the mattress, heat flooding his cheeks. He should stop this madness now, demand that control of his own body be handed back over this instant. 

A moan comes out instead, and Alec huffs a little laugh. 

“Still want me to stop?”

“Fuck you,” Logan mumbles, voice threaded with an unhurried, lazy need. He should probably feel mortified but it's so hard to get upset anymore. 

“Hmm. Think you're too fragile for that kind of excitement right now.” Alec's voice isn't much better, low and rough and his breathing gone all erratic, and that's. Well, that might be something think about if Logan were capable of forming coherent thoughts.

A roll of thunder vibrates the window pane, the endless beat of rain so much more soothing now. Someone in here is making the most embarrassing noises; Logan would like to relax into the haze of sleepy contentment falling over him, so he'd really appreciate it if they would cut it out. 

The painkiller kicks in not long after that. Logan lingers comfortably in a lovely, soft fog, Alec's touch becoming so distant and abstract he barely registers Alec moving away. The storm is less muffled when the front door is left to bang open in the wind, and then Alec stomps back in and there's the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor. Alec curses. Logan has this fleeting, faraway thought that something about all this is distressing, like he's left a toddler to look after himself and should at least attempt to call a babysitter before carelessly passing out, but that's quickly swept away with the certainty that all is awesome and nothing matters. 

Just before Logan drifts completely under, there's a quick, low buzz not unlike the sound of a stray electrical current finding something nearby to zap, a long beat of silence, and then Alec muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “Oops.”

Lightning flashes, and Logan sleeps.


End file.
